so i’ve moved out of the nunnery, back to my parents’ place. i’ve been nervous about it ever since it started to be a possibility, not only are my parents and i usually at eachothers’ throats after about a day and a half, but i was living the dream in a big beautiful cooperative share house. queer women and community events just off king street. what could ever make me want to leave? yes, yes, everybody laughs.
i’ve done a lot of work on my new quarters, hauling furniture about and sorting and chucking plenty of my old stuff that never moved out when i did, and lots of theirs too. and quarters they are, it’s more space than i’m used to, and all mine – or at least more mine than it used to be when i’d crash here between houses or trips. now the bed is in the same corner it always used to inhabit, but turned around the other way. it’s shielded from the door quite nicely by a big set of drawers, as the couch is by a set of shelves. the couch is imposed on me mind you, not something i want, and quite unuseable as it’s my last priority for cleaning up, but it gives the impression of being my own domain. i have a desk, shielded from the bed by the wardrobe, and my sewing table is separate. the latter is what makes the house home, and i’m very pleased to have been using it quite a bit. the other stuff is nice but unnecessary, but being able to set up the important bits well is a joy in any dwelling. delightfully, here my sewing machine has a window in front, good access behind and space for all my sewing junk beside, and my bed has familiarity and difference, privacy and a good windowsill for my colourful pillows to pile up to. i can recline in the pillows and doonas while i gaze out the window at the shaded, moist leafy greenness. what more could i possibly want?
there’s a lot of work involved in being around my father, and if i go upstairs i don’t get back too quickly. i get woken early every morning by my parents clomping around above me, we don’t get on perfectly and i’m a long way away from everything. but the work is important and it’s quite nice staying on people’s couches, being invited into my friends’ houses and lives a little more than otherwise. i enjoy driving in general, so the extra distance is not all bad. in fact, i really feel it on occasions, like when someone has a crisis and i can’t get there, or i have to engage with complicated public transport. or when someone who rarely talks to me makes a point of telling me that they think they’ll just pop out to an event i didn’t know about, that starts in half an hour. i’m back to actually having to plan my life properly.